Brothers
by daydreamer9898
Summary: Scott McCall comes back to Beacon Hills after years of roaming around the world, just to visit an old friend, Stiles Stilinski- now wrinkled and old. Scott must come to terms with baring the fact that he has to say goodbye to his only best friend and brother.


Scott McCall rode on his vintage motorcycle in incredible speed. Everything passed him by in spats of colors, and even through his helmet, he could feel the wind rushing against his face. He tilted his bike to the side as he turned in an intersection, and heard a loud horn behind him. He looked into his side mirror and found Derek's black Camaro tailing him. He stole a glance over his shoulder and gave a small salute.

He was amazed by the fact that after all these years, Derek was still there for him, along with Isaac. When so many had left the three of them found a way to still stick together. He remembered Isaac being there when Allison had passed. She had died at a young age- in battle. She had bled in Scott's arms, and he would never forget the pain as he realized the absence of his first love's heartbeat. Isaac was pained, as well. Scott never figured out exactly what it was, but there had definitely been something between Isaac and Allison.

Scott hit the brakes as he reached the curb, and parked at the side of a big pastel-colored building. He looked up and eyed the height of the building, and wondered how many old people lived in there. He met up with Derek and Isaac in the elevator, and not one of them spoke a word. Scott was anxious- a little too anxious. He felt his heart beating in his ears, pouring against his chest. He was aware that both boys in the elevator could hear him. Isaac nonchalantly fidgeted with the tips of his blue scarf, the same shade of blue as his eyes.

The elevator doors opened with a soft _ting!_, and the stench of rotting cells concealed by heavy perfume filtered in their nostrils. Scott immediately felt his heart broke. This was probably how his best friend smelled. He moved across the room, with Isaac and Derek tailing him, and stopped as he reached the reception counter. He cleared his throat, and a woman with very thick red lipstick looked up at him with heavy and tired eyes. "May I help you?" she said, her voice sweet and chirpy despite her haggard look.

"Uh, yeah, I'm Scott? Scott McCall," he started. "And I'm here for my, uh, my... grandfather. Stiles. Stiles Stilinski? I'm here to visit him."

"Give me a second, Mr. McCall," she said, as she turned to her monitor. Scott watched as her fingers moved across the keyboard. Then she looked up again, with a very pleasant smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Mr. Stilinski is on level 2, room 201. Now, if you could please stick these on your shirts- are you all together?" she eyed the three of them as she passed out stickers with the word _Visitor_ printed on it. The three of them nodded, then excused themselves and went back into the elevator.

"Relax, Scott," Derek said, placing his hand on Scott's shoulder. Despite the gestures of comfort, his voice was still the same cold voice he's always had. The elevator doors opened, and they found that there in what appeared to be a lounge, or a 'living room'. The room was full of old people, milling around slowly. The three of them moved out of the elevator and started searching for room 201. They found it almost immediately, and Scott started hesitating whether or not he should come in.

Isaac saw the hesitation, the way Scott's body tensed as he placed his hand on the door knob. "What's wrong, Scott?" he asked.

"What if he doesn't remember me? What if he doesn't know me?" Scott said, without looking up.

"That's ridiculous," Derek said, rolling his eyes. "The bond you have with each other... I've never seen something as strong as that." He moved passed Scott, and pushed the door open, as gently as he could- which was not gentle enough.

A startled-looking old man laid on the bed, and his ever so youthful hazel eyes widened at the sight of the men by the door. He was old- really old, with his skin all pale and wrinkled up. He looked weak and frail. And his hair was as white as snow. But despite his age, his hazel eyes were still electric with life. "Well, long time no see," he said casually, with his usual sense of nonchalance.

Scott's eyes lit up as he exhaled with relief. He stepped into the room with his mouth agape, still unable to believe that Stiles remembers him. He sat on the edge of the armchair by the hospital bed, and looked at Stiles with so much fascination. "You look like you've seen a unicorn," Stiles said. "Do I look like one?"

"No, I just-" he let out another breath, and ran his hand sheepishly over his hair. "Do you really remember me? Them? Do you know them?" he gestured at Derek and Isaac who stayed back, leaning against the wall near the door.

"Scott," Stiles said seriously, looking up to see the younger boy's eyes. "Do you honestly think I could forget?" Scott was too speechless to answer his question. "You know," Stiles continued. "My friend, Bill, from next door, died yesterday... Good man, he was. Really funny."

"How'd he die?" Scott asked.

Stiles just shrugged. "Same way Lydia did..."

Scott, once again, didn't know what to say. He was too sensitive for these kinds of things. He couldn't bare talking about the deaths of the people he has known all his life. He thought it cruel how his friends had grown old, died, and buried down into the ground... and how he stayed young. He knew one day, he'd grow old too. But that was too far away from now. Werewolves age at a really slow pace.

"How are you, Stiles?" it was Isaac who asked, seeing as how uncomfortable Scott was.

"Well... I'm all alone, really," Stiles said. He didn't sound sad. He didn't sound lonely, at all. "I have two children- a boy and a girl. The boy, Scott- I named him after you- was a soldier... Went to war and... never came back... Girl, Jennifer, just went home a few hours ago. Too bad you didn't get to meet her and my adorable grandson."

"Oh, you have a grandson?" Scott asked.

Stiles nodded, but then frowned as if he smelled something foul. "Don't know his name, though..."

"That's... good to know... I guess," Derek said, rather awkwardly. Being nice wasn't really his thing.

"Aw, thanks, sour wolf," Stiles grinned. Then he turned to Scott, now with a serious expression. "I missed you, man. How was... where were you again?"

"Everywhere," Scott sighed. "Just here and there..."

"How was hear and there?" Stiles asked.

Scott chuckled, "Good, good... I wish I could take you somewhere, though..."

"I'm too old for that, my friend... I already feel it coming, Scott," Stiles said. He didn't sound afraid. He didn't sound as if he was being forced to do something he didn't want to do. He sounded happy and reluctant. Willing, even. And it scared Scott. The last thing he wanted was to lose his best friend. He squeezed his eyes shut as he realized what was happening.

The door creaked lightly as Derek and Isaac left the room. "We should do something, you know," Scott cringed as he realized what Stiles was talking about. He couldn't think of what would happening next, after this. He didn't know if he could walk out of this building knowing that he was never coming back because there was no one for him to come back to. He couldn't think of moving on. Not without his best friend. Not without Stiles. "Something unforgettable. Something... Something we haven't done before!"

"Like what... die?" Stiles said, chuckling. When he saw the expression on Scott's face, his shoulders stopped shaking with laughter. He knew how much this was hurting Scott, but he had to go. He had to leave. He couldn't continue running with the werewolves. "We've already done a lot-" his thin lips turned into a grin.

And in that moment, he wasn't an old man lying on death bed. Scott saw him the way he was 70 years ago, when they were still 16. Pale skin, fragile bones, tiny moles... and sarcasm, of course. He smiled as he saw 16-year old Stiles. He didn't care that this was only an imagination. He wanted to cherish this moment.

"Imagine if I wasn't so stupid," Stiles continued, looking away from Scott and up at the ceiling. "Imagine if I didn't force you to come with me and find the dead body..."

"If I wasn't bitten?"

Stiles nodded, tearfully. "That would've sucked," he chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "We would've been the losers that we were, for the rest of our lives!" he paused, and the words sunk into Scott. Scott knew where this was going and he just couldn't help but agree.

"Remember when... when we weren't star players in lacrosse?" Scott added.

"_You_ were a star player, _I_ wasn't," Stiles corrected.

"Whatever," Scott said, waving away Stiles's comment. He let out a breath and continued. "When we just sat by the bleachers... watching everyone else do the exercises..." He remembered the whole thing, the feeling of being so left out. The Coach wouldn't even look at the two of them. In fact, no one did. Because they were just losers. They were no one. But they were brothers. They were losers together and they were no one together. And Scott was thankful for that.

"I'm glad I'm stupid," Stiles said. "I'm glad you got bitten. I'm glad Jackson was the Kanima. I'm glad the alphas came. I'm glad the Darach was evil... I'm glad, Scott. Can you believe that? I'm glad for all of that!" he took a deep breath, as tears started to form in his eyes. He turned to look at Scott, and their eyes met. "I'm glad that... we got through all that. Together."

Scott thought of doing it. Of giving Stiles the bite. A gift. An opportunity to not die yet, to be stronger. "I could Turn you, Stiles," he said quietly. "Please let me."

Stiles shook his head. "No," he said, with finality. "It would only either give me a painful death or a hundred painful years. Scott, please. No."

"Stiles," the tears started streaming down from Scott's eyes. "Please don't. Not yet. Please."

"Aw, c'mon man!" he said, cheerfully, even though the tears were there. "The hell are you crying about?"

"You're saying goodbye."

"Me?" he said, incredulously. "Saying goodbye? Oh, Scott, you're so cliche`!"

Scott gave out a weak chuckle. "I'm not saying goodbye, Scott," Stiles continued, seriously. "I will never say goodbye." He held out his hand and grabbed Scott's. Scott held Stiles's hand in both of his, and held them close to her mouth. He was crying, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed. "Don't cry, Scott," he said in a pleading voice. "I'm not saying goodbye, remember?"

"And that's even worse!" Scott said, his voice muffled by tears. "You're not saying goodbye, you're just leaving! You're leaving me alone!"

"You're not alone," Stiles said. "You have Derek, Isaac-"

"But I want _you_!" Scott let go of Stiles's hand. He buried her face in his hands and cried his heart out. "I want you... I want my best friend. I want my brother... Stiles... I just can't live in a world without a Stiles Stilinski..."

"Don't be such a brat," Stiles sighed. "You don't always get what you want. Now stop crying. No girl wants a man who cries!"

Scott dropped his hands, and took a deep breath. He wiped his tears with the back of his hands, and tried to sit up straight in his seat. He took deep, heavy breaths but they always end up as a sob. "I'm not crying," he said, as he wiped the tears forming in his eyes. "I'm not crying. For your sake."

"Aw, thanks, buddy," Stiles smiled. "What're you gonna do after this?"

"I dunno. Coffee, maybe," Scott said casually as he sniffed.

"Good," Stiles nodded. "Coffee's good."

"I love you, Stiles," his voice broke as he said the words. Tears spilled once again, and this time, he didn't wipe them away.

"Now, you just sound gay," Stiles teased, though there was no humor in it.

"I don't care."

"You're going to walk out of here, Scott," Stiles instructed. "After all this, you're going to walk out of this building, and you will move on. You will never look back, but you will never forget. Now-" he blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek. "I will never leave. No matter how much you want me to get the hell away from you, I will always be there. I know that sounds creepy, but... I love you, too, Scott."

Scott took Stiles's hand in his, and black fluids went through his veins. Stiles saw it, and immediately pulled his hand away. "I'm not the one in pain," he said. _You are_. Scott felt the atmosphere in the air changing. He looked at Stiles and felt that he was really ready to go. But Scott just wasn't ready to let go. He grimaced in pain, and pleaded, "Just smile, Stiles. Please. Just smile. Before you close those eyes."

Stiles did as he said. He smiled- a smile that said so many unspoken words. Their eyes met, and it was as if Scott saw their lives flashing before his eyes. 11 and 24. Running around the field, with sticks in their hands, or just sitting by the bleachers talking nonsense. Stiles giving advices... Scott trying to comfort Stiles when he felt so helpless and useless. Stiles being there when Scott almost ended his life. Looking back, Scott realized how much Stiles really meant to him. Stiles was there when everyone wasn't. Stiles was there with him even though he turned into an asshole. Stiles helped him through _everything_. Literally everything.

And the last thing Scott saw, the thing he would forever keep in his mind- an image of Stiles laughing.

Scott felt as though he was suffocating. Like he was having an asthma attack, something he hasn't had for a very long time now. He bent down and put his head between his legs. Thoughts of what could've been ran through his mind. Maybe they could've grown old together. Maybe they were the troublemakers in this place, probably running around the facility without their grandpa trousers on. Maybe they would've died in this room together, or-

Scott's head shot up, and he stared blankly at the bed. He heard the long beeping and never-ending sound of the machine, and he kept searching and searching for a heartbeat, but... He looked down at Stiles. He was no longer the 16-year old Stiles he had seen just a few minutes ago. He was 80-year old Stiles, with both his hands resting on his chest and with a wide smile on his frail lips.


End file.
